


On My Own

by PenguinofProse



Series: S4 Time Jump AUs [10]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s04e13 Praimfaya - Time Jump, F/M, Yes another time jump AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24811969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: AU of the S4 time jump. Octavia turns all Blodreina a little earlier and banishes Clarke. Angst with a happy ending.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: S4 Time Jump AUs [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764070
Comments: 42
Kudos: 210





	On My Own

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AliceInNeverNeverLand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInNeverNeverLand/gifts).



> Hello and welcome to another time jump AU. This one was a request for Clarke banished by Octavia. Please note that it includes some references to suicidal thoughts consistent with what we see in canon.
> 
> Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing. Happy reading!

Clarke doesn't feel safe.

That's not an unusual feeling, since she came to the ground. But if ever there was a moment when she _should_ feel safe, surely this is it. She's in the bunker beneath Polis, one of the lucky twelve hundred people chosen to ride out the death wave protected by unyielding concrete.

Yet still she doesn't feel safe.

There's something about the look in Octavia's eyes that has her worried. She knew things wouldn't exactly be comfortable between them, since she locked the door on Octavia and then tried to stop Bellamy from opening it again, but she didn't quite expect the murderous glares Octavia has been shooting her way ever since she arrived. She genuinely regrets putting her in danger, for one thing. And apart from anything else it's not the first time Clarke has made a hard choice that has put one of her people in the firing line, and it won't be the last. As far as she can tell, one of the unspoken rules of life on the ground is that you don't hold such decisions against each other for long. Loyalties are made and broken so quickly down here that it is simply not practical. Sure, she locked Octavia out this morning, but tonight, she is an experienced leader and Octavia would be wise to move on and make use of her skills.

Octavia has no intention of moving on, though. That's pretty clear.

Bellamy doesn't seem inclined to forgive and forget, either. Clarke hasn't really seen him since he opened the door and let his sister in. He disappeared to join the group of guards trying to keep the peace and show people safely to their quarters before she could do so much as look him in the eye, let alone try to start on making amends.

It's fine, she tells herself firmly. She has five years to beg his forgiveness.

…...

Bellamy has five years to forgive Clarke, so it's not as if he needs to rush to do it all at once.

All the same, though, sneaking away from his duties for a couple of minutes to find her and clear the air is seriously tempting. They haven't been on bad terms for this long at a stretch since she got back from Polis all those months ago and put things right, and he doesn't like it. He doesn't enjoy being angry with her.

It's a tough one, though. What she did ought to be unforgivable, he tries to tell himself. She was ready to condemn his sister to death. She threatened to shoot him to keep that way.

But he and Clarke have made a habit of forgiving each other for things that ought to be unforgivable, so he doesn't see how he's supposed to quit doing that now.

Bellamy and Miller have just finished showing a group of Skaikru's chosen survivors to their accommodation when Kane approaches them with a nod of acknowledgement.

"You've done well, both of you. Leave this now and go pick your own beds while you still have some choice."

Bellamy doesn't see what choice they will have. The dorms are all filled with grey bunk beds, and grey blankets, and grey plaster. He doesn't see what advantage it will bring to have his pick. But all the same, he and Miller nod and get on with following Kane's instructions.

"Jackson already saved us some beds." Miller comments as they walk. "But I'm not about to tell Kane that. I'm sick of listening to people complain. They've been saved, they should shut up and be grateful."

Bellamy makes soothing noises. He knows that Miller's anger is actually grief – his father did not make the list.

"Where's this room Jackson's chosen?"

"This way." Miller shows him down a hallway.

The dorm, when they arrive at it, has half a dozen beds. Jackson is already sitting on one, and a pack Bellamy recognises as Miller's is on another. Murphy and Emori occupy the pair in the corner. They weren't on the list of survivors, and Bellamy knows he ought to report their presence to his sister, but he simply cannot bear to do it. Sure, Murphy stood guard over him while he was locked up, and he's angry with him – furious, in fact – but he doesn't think he can stomach any more death, right this second.

He'll report them before the death wave, he tells himself. He'll report them before it's too late. With any luck, someone else will report them first and he won't have yet another weight on his conscience.

Bellamy looks at the two remaining beds, one above the other.

"I take it one of these is mine. Is anyone in the other?"

There is a beat of silence, and then Jackson speaks up quietly. "We thought that would be Clarke. I suggested she should come and get settled in when she's finished helping set up in med bay."

Bellamy contemplates arguing with that for a second, but no longer.

"Sounds good." He says, in the end, already reclaiming that feeling of security that comes with knowing he and Clarke are on good terms again – or at least, they will be, soon enough.

He's got five years to forgive her, but it turns out he can't stay angry with her for longer than five hours.

…...

Clarke steps back with a sigh of relief, taking in the sight of the well-ordered supply closet in front of her. Med bay is as ready as it can be, and it's time to face the music. It's time to go find her dorm, and time to tell Bellamy how sorry she is.

"I'll go tell Octavia we're done here." Abby says, as they head towards the door.

Clarke frowns. She doesn't have to do everything herself, she knows. Her mother is more than capable of taking a message to Octavia. It's just that Clarke cannot pass up another opportunity to show Octavia that she is committed to being a helpful and untroubling member of Wonkru. And apart from anything else, now that the moment to go check out her dorm has finally arrived, she finds that she is not quite ready to face Bellamy's wrath after all.

"I'll go." Clarke tells her mother, with a forced smile. "You go find Kane and get settled in."

She regrets it almost the moment they part ways. She has never been one for shirking difficult conversations before. Then again, Bellamy does seem to have a talent for messing with her logical mind that goes far beyond what she has ever experienced.

It's fine, she tells herself as she walks. She's only procrastinating over begging his forgiveness for the the five minutes it will take to deliver her message to Octavia. As soon as that's done, she'll be able to get on with putting things right.

The office is empty when she arrives. She knows that it is Octavia's office now, technically, but she's still accustomed to making herself at home in positions of power, so she goes on in to wait for Octavia's arrival without a second thought.

That's when she realises that someone is trying to get through on the radio.

"Please, is anyone there?"

Clarke stops in her tracks, stunned. She knows that voice. That's Raven – Raven who, last thing she knew, was intent on floating herself.

"Raven?" She picks up the handset eagerly.

"Clarke! Clarke, hey. I'm – I'm alive." Yes. It seems that way.

"It's so good to hear your voice, Raven. What happened?"

"Took an ice bath then restarted my heart. Rebooted my brain, as good as. I think it should stop the seizures."

"That's great news. So... not floating yourself?" She's never tried to have a conversation about the concept of suicide before, and she's not entirely sure how to go about it. In this moment, she very much wishes Bellamy was here. Bellamy, who witnessed first hand much of Jasper's party for the end of the world.

"Not floating myself." Raven confirms. "But now – I guess I've got myself stranded here."

Clarke rushes to reassure her. "That's not a problem. We can come and get you, there's still time. Just let me -"

The handset is knocked abruptly out of her hand, and the radio cuts out.

That's when Clarke realises she has company.

"Octavia?" She looks up into a pair of angry eyes, and realises that she was right to be scared of the winner of the conclave.

"What are you doing here, Clarke? You shouldn't be in here. You're not in charge here any more."

"I was coming to deliver you a message. Med bay is ready." She tries not to sound too defensive. She tries, and fails.

"A message that involved making yourself at home in my headquarters and unauthorised use of the radio?" Clarke gapes at her, stunned. Since when is _unauthorised use of the radio_ a thing?

"I'm sorry, Octavia. I'm going, OK? I'll get out of here. Let me go put together a team to fetch Raven."

"No!" The word comes out on a sharp yell. "No. Get out."

Clarke is confused. That's exactly what she was trying to do. "I'm going." She holds her hands up, and starts backing towards the door. This is the last time she ever dares to set foot in this damn office, she swears. She has had nothing but negative experiences of this room all day.

"No. _Get out_." That's the moment when Clarke surpasses _scared_ and finds herself outright terrified.

She doesn't think they're talking about an office any more.

"What do you mean?" She asks, careful, calm.

"There's no place for traitors in this bunker. You locked the door, you've been sneaking around headquarters. I can't trust you, Clarke."

She blinks, shocked. This is _Octavia_. The same Octavia who used to chase butterflies. The same Octavia whose brother is the only person in the world Clarke cares about more than the survival of the human race.

The same Octavia who just won a substantial sword-fight, a very frightening voice in the back of her mind points out.

Gathering her scattered wits, she tries for a reply. "You know that's not true, Octavia. We've been through a lot together, haven't we? We ended up on different sides of that door, and I'm sorry for it. But I can be helpful here – helpful to you. And you know I'd never do anything to hurt you. I care about you too much to do that."

"You care about my _brother_ too much." Octavia corrects her, annoyingly perceptive. "How does it feel to know he won't even miss you when I banish you?"

Clarke keeps breathing, but only just. Octavia can't really mean any of this. She cannot genuinely be intending to cast her out.

"I know you're angry, Octavia. Just let me go and fetch Raven, give you some time to calm -"

"Get out. Get out of this bunker _now_."

"Octav-"

"I mean it, Clarke. There's no place for traitors here. And it's not like you'll be missed. We have other doctors. And we both know that Abby and Bellamy cared more about opening that door than they do about you."

Clarke has faced some pretty surprising developments on the ground, so far. But this is surely the most shocking occurrence of the lot.

She still cannot believe it, as she is marched towards the door by Octavia herself and a handful of rather zealous Wonkru warriors. She cannot believe it, as she sees the door open and she is ushered through it at the point of a sword. This is happening quickly – so quickly, too quickly. She hasn't had time to say goodbye to her mother. She hasn't had time to apologise to Bellamy.

She hasn't had time to speak to either of those two people, who mean the world to her, but who care so much more about a door than they do about her.

…...

Bellamy has been sitting in his dorm for a short while, now, and he's already growing restless. He is not made for idleness, and he hates stillness most of all. The combination of stillness and underground bunker makes him feel rather like he's in an oversized coffin.

He's growing concerned, too, about the whereabouts of Clarke. Jackson has evidently been back from med bay for quite some time, and he swears that Clarke and Abby didn't have much more to do when he left. Is she avoiding him, perhaps? Is she sitting alone in some dark corner, not daring to come back here and talk things through with him?

Bellamy gives up and gets to his feet. If he's going to forgive Clarke – which _obviously_ he is – he might as well do it sooner rather than later.

He decides to start by asking Octavia if she knows where Clarke is. But when he arrives at the office, he finds it empty. The only sign that anyone has been here recently is a forlorn radio handset lying tumbled on the floor, its wires cut clean through.

That's odd, he decides.

He is on the point of investigating more closely when his sister appears, half a dozen of her most loyal new followers already at her heels. He wonders if it will be like this, from now on. Will she go everywhere with an entourage? Will winning the conclave go to her head? Has it _already_ gone to her head, coming so soon after Lincoln's death and the distress she has been struggling with ever since?

He pushes that thought away, and gets straight to the point. "Hey, O. Have you seen Clarke?"

She motions to her people to leave them, as she takes a seat at his side. "No. Not recently. I guess she's still in med bay?"

"Jackson thinks she should be done there by now."

"Then maybe the hydrofarm? I hear it takes a lot of work to get that up and running." Just for a moment, he thinks that maybe he can read something amiss in her gaze. She won't quite meet his eyes, and her glance keeps flickering towards that distressed radio.

No. He's imagining things. She's just stressed – this is a big adjustment for all of them.

"Thanks for the tip. I'll go see if I can find her."

"Don't bother, Bell. She had you locked up. Why are you still following her around?"

He laughs without much humour, and heads for the door. "You're starting to sound like ALIE. I'm still following her around because she's _Clarke_."

…...

Clarke doesn't know what to do.

She genuinely doesn't have the faintest clue where to even begin, and that's a new sensation, for her. She doesn't like it. She likes to be in control, likes to have a plan.

All she has right now is a closed door and the first stirrings of radiation sickness.

She's struggling to believe that this has actually happened. She cannot get her head around the idea that she, Clarke Griffin, has been banished. That's silly, of course – she was essentially banished from the Ark at the age of seventeen. But since they came to Earth, she's grown used to being indispensable.

She does what any sane person would do in such an insurmountable mess. She sits next to the bunker door and weeps. She weeps alone, scarcely sparing the energy to wonder where all the people who were not chosen have run off to. It's quiet here, so perhaps they have all dispersed to spend their last hours with their families.

Clarke's family won't miss her. Octavia told her so.

She weeps for a long time, salty tears rolling down her cheeks, stinging the blisters that are beginning to trouble her skin as she sits outside amidst the radiation. She knows there is no point in sitting here and weeping. But there's no point in doing anything else, either. She has no way of getting to Raven, and no way of saving them both if she could make it. She has no way of getting back into the bunker – her mother and Bellamy may have been prepared to open the door earlier, but she suspects that Octavia is right. She believes that they will not be so keen to open it this time round.

She is still weeping when she hears a noise behind her.

Startled, she turns to look in the direction of the sound. There, in the shadows, someone is moving.

"Who's there?" She calls, wondering why she bothers. Being stabbed is probably a nicer way to go than radiation sickness, she reckons. Maybe she should provoke whoever this is into a fight so they can both slip away more quickly.

"Wanheda? _Clarke_?" An almost-familiar voice spits the words.

"Echo?"

Sure enough, it is Echo who emerges from the shadows and approaches. Clarke stiffens, reaching instinctively for the gun which is no longer in her waistband. Just as well, she reminds herself. Being stabbed is better than burning to death.

Echo doesn't stab her, though – she makes no move to do any such thing. Rather, she sits on the ground cross-legged, folding her tall frame into a small and almost vulnerable tangle at Clarke's side.

Another surprising development, in a day full of shocks.

"This must be one hell of a story." Echo says, voice far from warm, but more cynical than cold.

"Not really. Octavia banished me." She explains, keeping her composure rather more easily now that she is focused on having a conversation with a hostile near-stranger rather than simply weeping over a closed door.

"Happens to the best of us." Echo says without visible emotion. "What's the plan?"

"Plan?"

"How are you getting back in there? What can I offer you to talk them into letting me in as well?"

Clarke shakes her head, helpless.

Echo speaks, apparently content with this rather one-sided conversation. "So the plan is we sit here and wait for Bellamy to let you in. Great. Second time today I've seen that plan. It's good one."

"He's not coming." Clarke tells her.

Echo gives her a look that strongly suggests she has lost her mind. "We'll see about that."

…...

Bellamy can't find Clarke anywhere.

He's tried med bay, but it was completely deserted. He's been to the hydrofarm, but Kara Cooper said that Clarke hadn't been there at all. And since then, he's been searching deserted corners of the bunker in an increasingly frantic frame of mind. He doesn't particularly see Clarke as the hiding away and weeping in a corner type, but she did look pretty damn heartbroken when she waved that gun at him earlier.

It'll be fine, he tells himself firmly. He'll find her, and he'll pull her in for a hug first. And then he'll let her trot out what will doubtless be a well-rehearsed apology, and then he'll make some crummy joke about how she didn't actually shoot him so it's all good.

He just needs to find her.

He clenches his jaw, annoyed with himself. Why is he panicking about this so badly? Clarke is a grown woman – she can take care of herself. He's supposed to still be angry with her, not petrified just because she's disappeared for a couple of hours.

He admits defeat, in the end, and goes to ask Abby. He doesn't want to have to do that, because it's tantamount to admitting he's freaking out over Clarke's safety. It's tantamount to admitting that he's so absurdly devoted to the woman that he can't walk away from her, even when she recently waved a gun at him.

But that is the truth, so he swallows his pride and searches for Abby. She is easier to find than her daughter. She's in one of the first Skaikru dorms he checks, sharing a heartfelt hug with Kane.

Bellamy coughs, loudly, and strides right in there.

"Have you seen Clarke?"

Abby spins to face him. "No. I thought she was with you."

"She's not with me. I haven't seen her for a few hours. I'm getting worried." He admits despite himself, jaw locked firm.

"She'll be fine, Bellamy. She can't have gone far." As if sensing what's really on his mind, Abby walks over and pats him clumsily on the elbow. "I'm sure she's not avoiding you. She wants to put things right with you, too."

He swallows the lump in his throat and focuses on logistics. "When did you last see her?"

"When we left med bay. She was going to tell your sister we were done."

The ground falls away beneath Bellamy's feet, the concrete suddenly lurching as Abby's words hit home.

No, that's not right. It's not the ground moving – it's him, staggering sideways and propping himself up against the wall.

"Bellamy?"

"I'm fine." He needs to get a grip.

There has to be some sensible explanation for all this. There has to be something he's missed, something that makes sense of his sister's expression and the severed radio wire and the fact that Clarke has vanished without a trace in the time since she went to speak to Octavia.

With a heavy heart he excuses himself and sets out for his sister's office at a run.

…...

Clarke and Echo have been sitting next to the door in silence for some time. They don't have anything else to do, after all. Clarke supposes the situation is probably awkward – a pair of enemies loitering in a temple together – but they will both be dead before the day is out, so it doesn't much seem to matter.

Echo breaks the silence. "I don't understand what she's thinking. I might not much like you, Clarke, but even I have to admit you know what you're doing. She could have used your help in there."

Clarke hums a noise of agreement. This conversation is pointless, but calling a halt to it would hardly save them, either.

"And surely she's noticed her brother's in love with you? He's going to be furious when he finds out what she's done."

Clarke snorts, and wonders when the sharp spy became delusional. "I wouldn't bet on that. It was my idea to take the bunker for Skaikru in the first place. I locked her out, and tried to shoot him when he went to open the door."

Echo fixes her with a long, considering sort of stare. She is just opening her mouth to speak again when they are startled by voices, and by light spilling into the temple.

"Who's there?" Clarke jumps to her feet, grateful to have something to do at last.

In a day full of unpleasant surprises, at least this next shock is a vaguely pleasant one. Monty and Harper emerge from the shadows, clutching flashlights in rubber-gloved fingers.

Clarke takes stock of the situation quickly. None of them are getting into the bunker any time soon, so this ought to be bad news. Monty and Harper are just be two more of her friends who will be dead here before the day is out – or at least, that is what will happen if they all hang around here waiting to be saved by a man who has long since given up on her.

But as ever, her brain is already working overtime, already seeking some new solution.

"It's so good to see you guys. Did you get here by rover?"

…...

Bellamy forces himself to keep calm when he arrives at Octavia's headquarters and invites himself in. That's what Clarke would do, he figures – she'd get all the pieces of the puzzle before acting. She wouldn't smash things and rage in a panic, so he resolves not to do that, even as his instincts are screaming at him to let loose.

Standing before his little sister's desk, he clasps his hands on his hips and tries for a confident pose.

"Octavia. I need you to tell me where Clarke is."

"Not here." She says, vaguely, not raising her eyes from whatever she is reading on the screen before her.

"Not good enough, O. I need to know when you last saw her and exactly where she went next."

"I told you, she's not here." Octavia repeats, voice devoid of any emotional clues, as she bends and scrabbles about under the desk for something.

Nausea starts gnawing at his stomach. "What do you mean? What do you mean, she's _not here_?"

Octavia stands before answering him, her hands behind her back. "She's gone."

"Gone?" Why won't she just give him a straight answer? Why does he get the feeling that this is a hell of a lot worse than Clarke simply avoiding him and hiding in corners?

"You are Wonkru or the enemy of Wonkru. And you and I both know which side she chose."

He grips his hands tighter on his hips, forces himself to form a coherent answer. "You know she did the right thing in the end, O. If you've got her locked up somewhere, you have to let her go. I know you're angry with her, but she's not the enemy. I'm telling you, she won't do anything to betray you."

"You're right, big brother. She won't do anything to betray me. She can't, because I've banished her."

"Banished her?" He chokes the words out, confused and incredulous.

"Locked her out." Octavia confirms, without so much as a hint of visible remorse.

He stands frozen for a moment, paralysed by the enormity of Octavia's admission.

And then, all at once, he is moving. Darting towards the computer to try to unlock the door. Reaching for his sister, to restrain her long enough to get to Clarke. Moving for the sake of moving, his panic boiling over into uncoordinated flailing as he tries to process this disaster.

Octavia reaches out towards him, eerily calm, and for the second time today he is shocklashed, reduced to a trembling heap on the floor of this cursed office.

…...

Clarke has had some pretty flimsy plans in her life, but she thinks this is the shakiest of the lot. Four outcasts – or two outcasts and two people she couldn't fit on that damn list – are driving to an island in order to beg their friend to give them a lift into space.

And yet, it's a hell of a lot better than sitting by that door and weeping uselessly.

Monty drives, Harper in the front at his side. Clarke's relieved that they came along when they did – with a rover to drive to the island, they will at least die at Raven's side, even if they cannot pull the plan together well enough to live. Echo and Clarke sit in the back of the rover, watching the world go by, taking in the sight of snow stained orange by the oncoming death wave.

Echo is wearing the radiation suit that should have been Jasper's. Clarke insisted on it, even though it means she goes without. Monty reckons that the back of the rover will offer her some protection, and she's a nightblood. She'll be fine without a suit.

And if she's not fine, what does it matter, anyway? It's not as if anyone would miss her – an outcast, a traitor. A former leader who has made some extreme choices and outlived her usefulness.

"He's going to be devastated when he opens that door and you're not there." Echo says.

Clarke doesn't ask her what she's talking about. She doesn't ask, because she knows. She wonders about trying to correct her misapprehension, yet again, but she doesn't see the point.

She doesn't see the point in anything much, just now.

…...

Bellamy never expected to find himself back here again. He's in exactly the same room as he was locked up in earlier, and he would be willing to swear that he has exactly the same chains around his wrists, too.

He certainly never expected to be here at his sister's orders.

He can't believe everything that has happened. He literally cannot wrap his head around it. How is it possible that his sister – his own flesh and blood, who he nurtured and raised – could banish Clarke from the bunker?

He didn't even get to say goodbye.

He pushes that thought away. He hasn't said goodbye, but that's OK, because this is not the end. He has to believe that, has to have faith in himself and his ability to break out of here yet again. He's already managed it once today. All he needs to do is rough up his wrists again, and Abby will obviously help him again when she hears what has happened to Clarke. They will open the door, and he will let her in, and then they will work out together the puzzle of what to do to bring his sister round.

For a fleeting moment, he imagines hiding Clarke for five long years. That would be an odd twist of fate, he thinks – banished by the girl who spent her childhood in hiding, only to survive Praimfaya squirrelled away in the corner of his dorm. He'll do that, if that's what it takes. He'll dig a hollow in the concrete floor with his own ragged fingernails if it will keep Clarke alive.

He should have gone to look for her sooner.

No, there's no point dwelling on that now. He tugs at his chains, reopening recent wounds. He's been weeping softly since he found himself locked in here, but now he gives free reign to his grief and anger, lets it burst out of him in a wretched cry.

He just wants to get Clarke back. He wants to give her that hug, wants to hear her stupid rehearsed apology. Wants to tell her he forgives her, and that he doesn't want them ever to find themselves on opposite sides again.

Maybe, he wonders, this might just be the kick up the backside he needed to admit to her that he loves her.

That thought has him letting out another anguished moan.

He keeps at it for some time, working his chains ever deeper into his wrists, becoming increasingly frantic as the minutes pass by. He doesn't have long, now, to set his plan in action.

What if he's too late?

Worse yet, what if he never makes it at all?

No, he refuses to tolerate that thought. He gives his chains another tug, finds them as unyielding as ever. Kicks hard at the floor, just to vent his frustration, knowing it will not bring him any closer to finding Clarke.

There are voices outside. He can't make out what they're saying, but there are several people out there apparently engrossed in conversation. He twists the chains into his skin once more for good measure. If this is Abby or Jackson, he needs to give them a good excuse to come right into the room.

The door opens, but it is neither Abby nor Jackson who enters. Rather, it is Octavia, unapologetic and brandishing a syringe.

"Let me go, Octavia. Let me go and get her. Please, I'm begging you." The words come out interrupted by sobs.

"I can't do that, big brother. I did what I had to do for our safety. I can't go back on it now."

" _Please_ , O. If this is some kind of twisted revenge for Lincoln, I get it, really I do. But you have to let her back in." He swallows heavily, has a go at a more coherent argument. "She could be useful to you. She's a doctor, and she's good at swaying crowds. You might need that down here before this is through." He keeps tugging at his chains, whether because he's still holding out hope that someone else will arrive to help him save the day, or out of sheer habit, he's no longer sure.

Maybe it's neither of those things. Maybe he's starting to think he deserves the pain.

"I've got Abby and Jackson. I've got you and Kane. Clarke's not so special she can be above the rules."

"Please -"

Octavia shoves the needle in his arm, and the world goes dark.

…...

They make it to the island in relatively good time, and that's the first bit of good news Clarke has had all day – or possibly all year. Raven tells them that the idea of flying to space is crazy, but she gets on with preparing the rocket all the same. Monty and Harper go to find an oxygen scrubber, and Clarke and Echo help Raven to get the ship loaded and ready for launch.

The conversation they share while they are at it is an interesting one.

"What's she doing here?" Raven asks Clarke, nodding at Echo who is loading rations into crates on the other side of the lab.

"She's coming with us."

"Why? She's a traitor. She killed everyone in Mount Weather."

"You could say the same about me." Clarke points out sadly.

Raven stops then, actually stops and looks at her for a long, loaded moment. "You two are suddenly best friends? I don't get it."

Clarke snorts. "Not at all. She found me when Octavia first cast me out. She watched me cry for a while until Monty and Harper got there. We're not friends _at all_ , but survival's a team sport. I think she'll pay us back for saving her."

Raven frowns, but she does not argue further. A Raven Reyes who is done arguing is a strange sight, but Clarke has too many other things on her mind to dwell on it just now.

…...

Bellamy comes round still in chains, slumped on the floor of his cell, to the sight of his sister looming above him.

He wonders whether she's been there watching over him the whole time. Probably not, he thinks sourly. She probably has other things to do, now she's the leader of her people and has an entourage and all.

"Need to get to Clarke." He mutters, as soon as his tongue, still heavy with sedatives, will shape the words. "Need to let me go. Clarke -"

"It's too late, big brother. You didn't think I'd have had you woken up before the death wave arrived? I knew you'd only keep hurting yourself."

"Too late?" He cannot comprehend that idea.

"It's too late. The death wave is here." Octavia pauses, and just for a moment, he wonders if he sees a flicker of emotion in her eyes. "She's gone."

At that, he falls apart completely. He starts tugging at his chains, although it won't achieve anything, now. There is no point in seeing a doctor if it won't get Clarke freed. He starts shouting, incoherent phrases, broken syllables, and her precious name interspersed with sobs.

Octavia watches. His little sister – the girl he held in his trembling arms as a newborn infant – stands there and watches him grieve.

Then it gets worse.

"Pull it together, Bell. You can't be like this. You need to help me run things round here."

"You're out of your damn mind." He tells her, swallowing back his tears to spit the words at her. "I'm not going to forget this, Octavia. I'm not going to just fall in at your side and help you out, not after what you've done."

"You were willing to forget it when it was Clarke. You were willing to fall in at her side all over again."

"She didn't go through with it!" He screams at her, wondering how she cannot see this. Wondering how she is so lost to all human warmth that she doesn't understand his emotions right now.

Then she shows him that she still does understand human emotions. She shows him it in the most disgustingly manipulative way he can imagine.

"I'm still your sister, Bell. I know that you're angry with me, but it had to be done. Now you won't leave your _sister_ to do this without you, will you? I can't do this without you. You don't know what might happen if you're not looking out for me."

"Octavia -"

"You take care of me, big brother. That's what you do. That's what you've always done. Don't let Clarke come between us."

 _His sister, his responsibility_.

He sits there for a moment, takes a long hard look back at the history he shares with this woman he no longer recognises. He remembers the time she hit him, in that cave, and he let her. He remembers the time he committed a capital crime to follow her to a hostile planet. And most of all he remembers the time, not so long ago, when he sacrificed the only good and genuine and loving relationship he has ever had in his entire life for the sake of opening a door to save her.

And then he does what he was always going to do, the moment she pulled out that fine piece of emotional blackmail. He nods his head, tears still rolling down his cheeks, and holds out his hands for her to unlock his chains.

…...

The journey from the lab to the Geo-Sci Ring goes as smoothly as can be expected. In a lifetime of disasters, Clarke is almost disappointed to get this lucky break. She's not sure she deserves to survive so easily, not after everything she's done.

She's pleased for her friends' sake, though. They've scarcely been here an hour, but it's already clear that Raven will thrive, these next five years. She's in her element, striding about the place, getting systems online and water recyclers up and running. Monty is doing well, too, already showing signs that he intends to heal from Jasper's death and make himself a peaceful home amongst his algae farm. Harper follows his lead, choosing them a bedroom with a sad smile and making a start on settling in.

That just leaves Clarke and Echo sitting by the window and watching the Earth burn.

"She banished me, too, you know." Echo offers.

Clarke looks up, surprised. "She did? I guess I thought you weren't one of their hundred."

Echo bristles. "I was one of the Queen's Guard, Clarke. I'd have made the cut. But I was banished." There's something Echo's not telling her, she's pretty sure, but she's not sure how hard to push.

She might as well keep pushing, she decides. Echo is already her enemy. However much trouble she stirs up, here, there is no way she can lose another friend today.

"Why would she do that? I – I understand why she cast me out."

Echo looks at her, sharp. "She had her reasons."

"If you want to tell me, you could." She sighs. "We're here for five years, Echo. Just the five of us. I'll tell you my story if you'll tell me yours."

Echo fixes her with narrowed eyes, just for a second.

And then she starts to speak.

…...

Bellamy follows Octavia around for the rest of the day. He hasn't forgiven her – not in the slightest – but he is powerless to do anything other than fall in at her side to check she survives the next five years. That's what responsibility means to him.

He doesn't intend to forgive her in the months to come, either. He just intends to do a good enough job of supporting her that she doesn't actually go and die – out of respect for his mother, if nothing else.

Octavia keeps trying, fool that she is. She keeps trying to start conversation, keeps trying to solicit his opinion. He can't understand what's going on with her. There is no warmth in her eyes, even as she tells him that he has to stay by her side because she loves him. Losing Lincoln really seems to have broken her.

He wonders if losing Clarke will do the same to him.

He thought that opening the door would be enough to bring his beloved little sister back. He thought that the love and care he showed by going to such lengths to save her would be enough to remind her of her own humanity.

It seems he thought wrong.

"Bell? Bell, are you listening to me?"

"No." He doesn't intend to waste time on listening to her, in the future.

"I need to go speak to the crowd. What do I say? You have to tell me what to say." For a moment, just half a heartbeat, he sees the faintest shadow of the scared young girl he used to watch over.

But then she picks up her sword, and the moment passes.

"You tell them you'll take care of them. You tell them they'll be safe as long as we all work together. And you promise them a better life up topside when all this is over."

He remembers a time, not so long ago, when a hot-blooded rebel and a warm-hearted Princess made a similar speech to a bunch of hopeless teenagers.

Gritting his teeth, he follows his sister – the woman who used to be his sister – out to face the crowd.

…...

Clarke manages to hold it together, more or less, as they go through the motions of settling in for their first night on the Ring. Sure, she shed a tear or two while she swapped stories with Echo, but she didn't let her guard down completely. And she made it through supper, as well, chewing on a tasteless ration pack and wondering how her mother and Bellamy are enjoying the food in the bunker.

No. No, she mustn't wonder about that. That way lies madness.

She's coping OK, overall, until the time comes to go to bed. Harper and Monty have chosen a room together, to the surprise of no one. Raven chooses another room on that corridor, visibly overjoyed at the thought of having neighbours after days spent planning to float herself alone. Clarke follows suit and selects another room nearby, because she senses that is what she's supposed to do.

To her surprise, Echo chooses the room next door. A whole space station to choose from, and she moves in just the other side of a thin wall from Clarke. Maybe they will become best friends yet, Clarke thinks with a wry smile. She went and lost a best friend, when she ordered that door locked, so maybe she ought to be auditioning for a replacement.

Except Bellamy wasn't just her best friend, she recalls. He was so much more than that, her rock and her happy place and her family, all rolled into one.

No. She can't afford to think like that.

She is very careful with her thoughts, as she settles into the room and prepares for bed. She focuses with painstaking attention on donning a pair of pyjamas she has located and wondering whether they suit her. She concentrates on brushing her teeth with unwarranted thoroughness. And then she lies down, and instructs herself to sleep.

She can't do it. She just can't do it.

Cautiously, she allows herself a moment to think of the people she has left behind. The people she loves more than they loved her. Just for a moment, she permits herself to say goodbye to her mother. To apologise for the relationship they never really repaired in the wake of her father's death. She understands the impossible position her mother found herself in rather better, now. She understands it now she's waved a gun at Bellamy.

She sets aside a minute to say goodbye to Bellamy, too. She starts by apologising to him in silence, running through in her mind the words she was planning and rehearsing so carefully right up until the moment Octavia locked her out. Then she moves on to telling him that she understands if he can't forgive her, that she appreciates the enormity of her actions. And somehow the conversation spirals away from her, after that, until she's weeping into her pillow and telling him that she loves him, that she's sorry she never said it in person, that she realises it's too late now.

She's not sure when this stopped being a silent conversation, and started being a whispered monologue delivered into the darkness. She cannot remember making the decision to open her mouth and start actually shaping the words. But she can definitely hear herself speaking, now, her voice breaking on his name as she bids him goodnight.

She wonders if he can hear her, thousands of miles away, buried feet beneath the ground.

She wonders, after everything she's done, if he would want to reply even if he could.

…...

Bellamy puts off going to bed for as long as he possibly can. He cannot face the idea of walking back into the dorm he should have shared with Clarke, and being confronted all over again with the fact he will never share anything with her, now. No more daring plans, and no more secret smiles.

It feels wrong, to look back on the time they spent preparing for the end of the world and claim that he was happy then. But he was certainly a hell of a lot happier a week ago than he is now.

He stays up late in Octavia's office, occupying himself with reams of paper and reading until his eyes hurt. He needs to know everything about this place, if he is to uphold his cursed duty to his sister. And apart from that, he thinks he wants to help keep things running down here for Clarke's sake, too. He might not have her level head and quick thinking, but he's going to do his best to live up to her memory.

Octavia doesn't stay with him while he reads. She has had a master bedroom set up for herself, and she retreats there to keep her own company. Bellamy wonders if she chose to have her own room deliberately, leaving the one vacant bed in this entire bunker that should have been Clarke's to taunt him.

By the time he gets back to the dorm, it is dark but for the lamp at Jackson's bedside. Everyone else seems to be asleep, and he is pleased to note that Emori and Murphy are still there. They might not be his favourite people in the world, but he feels a sick sense of victory over his sister at the knowledge that these two stowaways have eluded her notice.

Now he thinks about it, he doesn't see why anyone should need to throw them out, now. With Clarke banished and Raven floating herself, they would be two short of their twelve-hundred anyway.

"Bellamy?" Jackson's whisper drifts through the darkness.

He grunts in acknowledgement.

"Let me dress your wrists."

Bellamy looks down at his arms, confused and surprised. He'd forgotten about his wounds, with everything that's been going on. In a day of shocks that have set his world on its head, a little dried blood crusting into scabs around his wrists never quite managed to attract his attention.

He thanks Jackson and lets him get to work. There's no sense in dying of blood poisoning now. He won't be able to fulfil his duty to his sister, nor protect these people on Clarke's behalf, if he does that.

When his wrists are bound in soft bandages, he sits and watches Jackson go to bed. He watches as he extinguishes his light, listens for the sound of his breathing growing soft with sleep.

When he is certain he is the only person still awake in the dorm, he cries. He's been tearful on and off all day, of course, but now he properly lets loose, sobs muffled by his pillow so as not to wake up his roommates, punching the mattress as he wishes he could bring himself to punch his little sister's face.

He's angry. He's so wretchedly angry. He's angry with Octavia for her inhumane decision, but he's absolutely furious with himself for not putting things right. He should have thought quicker, should have fought harder. Should have found some way to manipulate Octavia as she manipulated him.

He's made it his life's mission to protect Clarke, since not long after they came to the ground, and he can't believe he has failed now.

He's sad, too. That should be obvious, of course, but he's sad in a way he doesn't think he has ever been sad before. He mourned when they floated his mother, of course he did. But parents die before their children – that's the normal course of things – and mothers who have concealed a second pregnancy die earliest of all. It didn't hit him as a surprise in the same way Clarke's death has, coming at the very moment when they should have been looking forward to five years in safety together.

There's more to it than that, though. His mother loved him because he was her son, but he always felt like she loved Octavia more. And he lost Gina, who was fond of him and who he liked in turn, but that wasn't the same as this, either. He honestly feels that Clarke is the first person in his life who has ever truly understood him, ever really loved him for who he is, flaws and all. They never talked about love, of course, but they _showed_ it enough that he's feeling pretty confident it was the truth.

He's not ready to lose her. He knows that doesn't make a difference, that she's dead whether he's willing to let her go or not. But he's not ready for it all the same.

That's what gets him up from his bed, in the end. His lamp is on low, just enough light for his purpose as he stands and climbs into the bunk above his.

This was Clarke's bed.

No, that's not right. This still _is_ Clarke's bed – no one else is going to use it, now that the sleeping arrangements have been finalised. And he knows it makes no sense, but it doesn't feel right to him that her bedding is still sitting in a useless pile at the foot of her mattress when everyone else's bed has been made up ready for sleep.

He starts with the pillow. The pillows aren't much good, down here – thin and sort of _limp_ , but they're better pillows than he or Clarke had back at the dropship, he thinks. He finds himself telling her that – silently, of course, a one-sided conversation in his head. He knows she's dead, but he can still see the grudging smile she would give if she were here and listening to his cynical commentary on the substandard bedding.

He smooths out a sheet over her mattress, next, silently telling her about it all the while. She had better sheets when she was the Princess of the Ark, he teases her, and he's pretty sure he hears a snappy retort in reply.

He's aware that teasing a dead woman is not the most conventionally sane of behaviours, but he keeps doing it all the same.

He tucks in her blanket, after that, the scratchy grey wool irritating against his skin. And then he faffs with the whole arrangement for a few more moments, shifting her pillow a little to the left, then picking it up and fluffing it, then putting it back down again.

At last he has to admit that her bed is made. He's tempted to stay here for the night, actually, let the tears that are still trickling slowly down his cheeks soak into her coarse blanket. But he's never dared to share her bed before, and he doesn't think he can bear to start now.

Whispering his goodnight wishes to her into the darkness, he slips back down the ladder, and continues crying into his own bedding, instead.

…...

Clarke tries to establish a routine in the days that follow. She knows that a daily rhythm is important, not just for her sake, but for the sake of this very small crew she presumes she is supposed to be the leader of.

Thankfully, four people do not need much leading, and they are far from difficult on the matter of agreeing to her suggested protocols. They adopt a breakfast time, and a lunch time, and a dinner time. They have a schedule for chores, and assigned roles in the group, and it is all strangely like a more high-tech version of the dropship camp.

Only without Bellamy, of course, it's nothing like it at all.

No, that thought has no place here. She can survive without him – she did, for seventeen years of her life. She's just not entirely sure she can _thrive_ without him, now that she knows how much more sense the world makes when he is by her side.

She seems to have replaced him with Echo, and that's hardly a good deal. Echo is bright enough, sure, and keen to be of use in order to thank the people who saved her from Praimfaya, but she has none of Bellamy's warmth or easy humour.

She also seems to be terrified of putting a foot wrong.

"I've done the dishes." She says, now, approaching Clarke as she sorts through their limited selection of medical supplies.

"Great." Clarke says, lacking enthusiasm.

"What should I do next?"

"You have free time next."

"Yes – but what should I do next?"

"Free time, Echo. Time to do whatever you want." _Whatever the hell you want_ , she finds herself thinking, but that makes her want to cry.

"But what would be helpful?"

Clarke sighs. She's not going to win this one. Her new nextdoor neighbour is accustomed to almost martyrdom levels of serving her people, it would appear. "You can help me with this." She says in the end.

Echo doesn't help at all, as it turns out. She doesn't know a syringe from a suture kit. But she wants to learn, and wants to contribute to this very small-scale society Clarke is building, so the afternoon is not completely wasted.

The days are like this, at first. Clarke keeps busy, and keeps everyone else busy, and avoids so much as thinking words that remind her of Bellamy or of her mother during the day. She cannot afford to let her guard down and mourn the life she was banished from, not while there are other people around to see her cry.

But every night, without fail, she sets aside a couple of minutes to bury her face in her pillow and tell Bellamy just how much she misses him.

…...

Bellamy greets Clarke every morning, and says goodnight to her every evening. He knows that's beyond stupid, because she's _dead_ – she's dead and it's all his fault – but he does it anyway. It just makes sense, when he's lying here, her bunk above him. Her bed may be empty, but it's _there_ , and so he needs to say something, even if he's saying it silently.

Mostly he does say it silently, because there are other people in this room, and he suspects that they do not want to lie in bed and listen to him losing his mind. Miller and Jackson would be sympathetic enough, he figures, but he's not a fan of the idea that Murphy and Emori might witness him falling apart.

This evening, however, they are not here to watch his strange behaviour. They are not in the room at all, and that strikes him as worrying. They have been hiding out in the dorm ever since the death wave, anxious to escape Octavia's notice as they were not on anyone's list.

Bellamy puts the pieces of this particular puzzle together very quickly, and figures that his roommates' luck has run out. And yeah, sure, Murphy and Emori might not be his favourite people, but he's not about to sit here and let his sister cast them out.

He couldn't save Clarke, but if he plays his cards right, he might just be able to save them.

He runs to his sister's office, knowing from his previous failure that time is of the essence.

"Octavia." He says her name even as he is bursting through the door.

"Bellamy." She does not sound welcoming.

He doesn't care. He gets on with saying what needs to be said. "You have to let them go free. You have to let them live. We've got the spaces, you know we have, because of Raven and- and Clarke."

"Since when do you care about John Murphy?" She looks incredulous.

"I don't. Not at all. But I'm fed up of watching people die. I'm fed up of watching _you_ kill them. And after what you've done, I think letting these two people live is the least you can do. Letting them have my friends' spaces. Clarke and Raven would want them to live." It is only half what he really wants to say, but it is better than nothing.

Perhaps he has caught Octavia on a good day. Perhaps she does not want to have this argument. Perhaps, an inappropriately optimistic voice in the back of his mind says, she has learnt from her mistakes.

Whatever the reason, she waves her hand and dismisses him with a grudging nod that tells him he has got his way.

It's too little, too late. But still it is better than adding to the Blake bodycount they have managed to accumulate, between them.

…...

Clarke dwells on her mistakes a lot, those first weeks and months in the sky. There's not a whole lot else to do apart from chores, after all. So quite often she sits by her bedroom window and looks down at the Earth and tells Bellamy everything she's done wrong.

She knows that's a waste of her time, because he can't hear her – and wouldn't _want_ to hear her. She knows it's a waste of her time because he knows her mistakes and flaws better than anyone.

But still she does it.

She tells him about their failed peace talks with the grounders, back at the dropship, only last year yet a lifetime ago. She tells him about Mount Weather – even though they did that one together, she still likes to blame herself for it most of all. And she tells him over and over again about the final conclave, and about locking that door, and having him locked up.

She tells him anything and everything that comes to mind, really. She's aware that eighteen is a little late to gain an imaginary friend, but right now, that seems like the least of her mistakes.

…...

Bellamy puts a lot of effort into mourning Clarke as privately as possible in his shared dorm. He checks that her bed is neatly made, for example, but only late at night when the others have gone to sleep. He cries about her, long and a little too loud, but only in the early hours when he cannot close his eyes without seeing her burning, going up in flames just beyond that damn door.

He writes her eulogy in fits and starts by torchlight, on paper he keeps hidden beneath his pillow.

Clarke is a difficult woman to write a eulogy for. He cannot in all good conscience parrot the kind of sentimental trash he remembers from staged grief on the Ark. He cannot say that her laughter brightened his life, because he didn't get to hear her laugh often enough. He cannot say that she was saintly, never putting a foot wrong, because they were at odds the very day she died.

He does his best. He writes about the human warmth and genuine caring nature that she kept so well-hidden behind her mask of impossible choices. He writes about the little moments of happiness – or at least not outright sorrow – he remembers them snatching along the way. Unity Day, for example, or that first hug they shared when she escaped from Mount Weather.

He's still not happy with it. His words feel flat, somehow, a list of actions taken and wars waged, rather than a portrait of a living, breathing, woman.

That's because she's neither living nor breathing, he chides himself, frustrated. That's because she's dead, and it's all his fault.

He should have been stronger, tougher, quicker. Should have noticed sooner, should have opened the door for her. Should have found more words to mark her passing, more words to tell her how he felt while she still lived.

He should have done better, and that's that.

He tells her some of this, in a heartbroken whisper early one morning, under the cover of Miller's incessant snoring. He tells her even though she can't hear him, and even though he wouldn't blame her for ignoring him if she could, after he failed her and left her to die.

He's aware that talking to her is probably a sign that he's completely losing his mind. He's aware that a healthy young man does not start speaking to a dead woman he never loved as well as he ought.

He's aware that imaginary friends belong to childish dreams, and that his adult life has been nothing but a succession of nightmares.

…...

It's not that Clarke has become friends with Echo. She's becoming increasingly convinced that she's a terrible friend, actually, and that's why Bellamy gave up on her, that last day. She's too cold, doesn't show anyone she cares about them. Too ready to sacrifice individuals to reach a greater goal.

Except Bellamy. She always was incapable of sacrificing him.

So, yeah, she's not friends with Echo. But they hang out a lot, because there's not much else to do. They talk a bit, about rations and logistics and how to help Raven with the fuel problem.

Until one day, they talk about something else entirely.

It is Echo who starts it. "I miss him." She says, one afternoon, in the middle of a game of chess.

Clarke frowns at a rook. Echo has a good head for strategy, and is taking to the game quickly. "Roan?" Clarke checks, although it can be no one else.

"Yeah. It's just – I can never put it right, can I?"

They have spoken about this before, to some extent. That first day, Echo explained how she had come to be banished. But this conversation seems to be leaning in a direction that is far from purely logistical, Clarke thinks.

"Not with him, maybe. But I'd say you're doing a good job at putting things right with us." Clarke says, because it is the truth. She's pleased she took a punt on Echo's life, all those months ago.

Echo barely smiles. "It's not the same. You've been good to me, all of you, but – he was my people." A pause. "My _person_."

"I know what you mean."

"You will get to put it right, though, Clarke. Bellamy will be waiting for you when you get back there."

"He won't. The last conversation we ever had was me threatening to shoot him."

"No. That's the _most recent_ conversation you've had. It's not the _last_. Not like – Roan. The last conversation I had, where he cast me out – that's _really_ the last conversation we'll ever have."

"I'm sorry, Echo."

"No. That's not the point. Don't tell me you're sorry. Tell me that you still have hope."

She can't tell her that, though. She can't tell her that because she doesn't have hope, not unless she can hear Bellamy's steady breathing at her side. She doesn't have hope because she knows that Octavia's safety means everything to him, and that he will never forgive her for what she's done.

So she nods, and smiles, and pastes her poker face on. And that night, as she looks down on the burning Earth, she tells Bellamy how sorry she is all over again.

…...

Bellamy still thinks his grief ought to be a private affair. He's still writing Clarke's eulogy by night, for example, still unhappy with even the umpteenth draft. He still greets her each morning, makes her bed each night. That's an easy task, of course, because no one ever disturbs the covers, but every evening without fail he re-plumps her pillow, just to be on the safe side.

But some of his dorm mates seem to think he ought to talk about it.

That worries him a bit. He sees them stop whispering when he walks in, and wonders whether they have caught onto his strange behaviour and are freaked out by it, or whether they are going to force him to say out loud things he can scarcely bear to _think_. But it's not like that, at all, in the end.

"I was young when my mother died." Jackson tells him, out of the blue, one afternoon.

He frowns. He speaks to Jackson a lot at mealtimes, or in the queue for the showers, but they've never spoken about mourning before now.

"I lost my mother when I was twenty-two." He contributes, deciding that his mother's death is less raw than Clarke's. It was only _partly_ his fault, for example, rather than Clarke's death for which he still blames himself entirely.

Jackson nods, eyes soft. "It was hard. But the only good thing about her illness was that at least I got to say goodbye."

Bellamy's jaw hurts. Maybe that's because he's biting down so hard on grief. "They let me say goodbye to my mother when they floated her. It was brief, but better than nothing."

Jackson nods again, silently encouraging. This man is a good doctor, Bellamy decides. There is something about his body language that radiates kindness and inspires confidence.

He takes a risk, and continues. "I didn't get to say goodbye to Clarke." His voice breaks a little on her name, but he thinks he gets away with it.

"That can be really tough." Jackson says, tone gentle. "I've sometimes seen people get stuck on that, when they lose someone they care about to an accident or sudden illness. Sometimes it can help to have a memorial or make an opportunity to say goodbye to the person you've lost, even if you don't get to say it in person."

Bellamy thinks of the papers hidden under his pillow. "I've tried writing goodbye." He murmurs, eyes locked on the floor.

"That's great, Bellamy. That can be a really good idea. And you find it helpful to have her bed made?"

He nods, jaw locked firm. It's not helpful, as such. It's just that he can't imagine it being otherwise.

"Great. Look after yourself, Bellamy. And let us know if there's anything we can do. Just because you can't speak to her any more doesn't mean you can't say a proper goodbye."

He nods again, not trusting himself to form words. Not trusting himself to do so without giving away that he still speaks to her several times a day in his heart.

…...

Clarke is the first to try the algae when it is ready, six months in. Of course she is. If anyone needs to take a risk round here, it ought to be her.

She clings to that thought, when she feels her throat close up and starts choking on nothingness. She clings to it, too, when she comes round in her bed days later with a concerned-looking Harper hovering over her.

She bears it, so they don't have to. And apart from anything else, it makes sense for her to take the risks, because Octavia was right all those months ago.

There is no one who would miss her if she died.

…...

Bellamy is happy that Miller and Jackson are in love. He's happy that Murphy and Emori are in love. He's happy that Abby and Kane are in love.

But he misses being loved. He misses it so much it hurts. It's silly, because he and Clarke never talked about love in so many words, but she is the only person who has ever made him feel genuinely loved for who he is as a person, accepted flaws and all.

His sister still tells him she loves him, of course. But he's beginning to understand how that works. He gets it, now – love that only appears when she wants him to do something is emotional blackmail, not genuine affection.

In the end, starved for love, he starts striking up conversation with young women – mostly those he meets through Miller's connections on the guard. He finds a cheerful blonde at their table in the canteen one day and asks her how she likes the supper menu. And she responds with more winking and hair-flicking than can possibly be necessary for a conversation about soy beans, and asks him if he has plans later that evening.

This should be great. It should be the cure for his loneliness, and the perfect opportunity to have a go at moving on.

But every time his new blonde friend – whose name he hasn't even managed to learn – opens her mouth, he finds himself disappointed and surprised that her voice is not Clarke's.

So he doesn't take her up on the offer of a fun evening. He goes home, instead, and writes another page of eulogy. He doesn't even wait until his roommates are asleep – he's been a little more open about this particular coping mechanism, since his conversation with Jackson. He writes about his failure to move on, and about his disappointment in meeting a girl who wasn't Clarke.

That's when he realises that this is no longer a eulogy. It's not longer a case of cataloguing Clarke's good points, yet recalling fairly even the bad. It's not longer about remembering Clarke _at all_.

Instead, he realises that he is in possession of dozens upon dozens of letters to his deceased best friend.

…...

Clarke is happy that Monty and Harper are in love. Of course she is. Or, at least, she's as happy about that as she is about anything, these days.

She's been struggling a bit for happiness. That's silly, of course, because life was hardly a laugh-a-minute deal when she was on Earth. But at least she felt valued, then, and appreciated. And loved.

Now she's in a cold tin can in the sky, leading a bunch of people who don't need a leader. Missing a mother who isn't missing her, mourning a relationship that never was.

She needs to get a grip. She lived in solitary for months – how much harder can this be? And if she's so upset about ruining her friendship – or whatever it was – with Bellamy, surely she just needs to pull herself together and show him how sorry she is when she gets back to Earth?

She just misses him. She misses his hugs, would give anything to have him squeeze her shoulder so softly like he did that time she was writing the list. Except this time, she wouldn't only lean her cheek against his hand. No, she would press a kiss to it, and then to his lips, wasting no time in showing him how she feels.

But now she'll never get to do that, because he'll never forgive her for locking that door.

She wonders about telling Raven or Echo some of this, one day. She wouldn't tell Monty or Harper – they're too busy being happy. But often she catches something in Echo's eye that makes her certain that she feels sympathy for her and understands how lonely she feels. Once in a while she even wonders if there is something else going on, if perhaps her new friend is considering the idea that they might find solace in each other.

Clarke isn't interested in that. She'd rather spend the evening looking down at the Earth and telling Bellamy how much she misses him.

…...

Bellamy understands the Iliad better now. It's a paltry silver lining in a five-year-long cloud, but he's getting pretty familiar with the concept of wrath and the havoc it can wreak in a person's heart.

He's still angry with his sister – more than angry. So furious at her role in Clarke's death that it burns like acid in his stomach, even two years after the event. But it's not like he can go on some massive heroic killing spree to vent his fury. He has to stay close by his sister's side, and be a good lieutenant, and do everything he can to keep her alive.

He therefore channels his anger into other activities. He trains hard in sessions with the guard, and runs harder on his own adventures, taking long bouts of exercise that involve circling around and around and around this concrete coffin. Their rations are not generous, so he loses weight, but that doesn't seem to matter. As long as he stays alive long enough to see his people through this trial and protect his sister, it doesn't much matter what happens to him.

He has his other coping mechanisms, too. The bed-making, the letter-writing. He talks to Clarke more and more often as the years go by – mostly in their dorm in the dead of night, but he's getting sloppier about it, too. Sometimes he slips up and tells her what's going on as he wanders down the corridor or sits in his sister's office.

Most people look sad for him when he does that. But Octavia takes it even further, needles at him – as if she hasn't already done enough.

He's having a little chat with Clarke in the storeroom one afternoon. OK, it's more a one-sided monologue, because that's what talking to a ghost is like, but it's still the best conversation he's had all day.

"I can't believe her." He rants, meaning his sister, of course. "Murphy and Emori have been here _two years_ now, and just yesterday, she said that she was going to put them both on half rations. For no reason. I think she does it just to -"

"Bellamy?" Octavia's voice interrupts his flow, and he startles.

"Octavia. Hi."

"Who are you talking to?"

"No one."

"Bellamy. Come on. You might be my brother, but if you're conspiring against me -"

"No conspiracy." He rushes to assure her, not doubting that this monster who has replaced his sister wouldn't hesitate to exact her idea of justice on him.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Grabbing some paper." He tells her, waving a notepad in her face to prove his point.

"And telling someone you're angry with me." She observes, unimpressed.

He sighs, swallows. If there's any chance that his little sister is still in there...

"I was telling Clarke." He mutters, eyes on the floor.

"Clarke?"

"I talk to her a lot. You've made me lose my mind, OK? Is that what you want to hear?" He asks, voice growing louder, fury bubbling to the surface all too easily.

Octavia looks confused. "It's been _years_ , Bell. How are you still hung up on her? How are you still angry with me?" He could laugh at her question if it wasn't so damn tragic.

He looks her right in the eye, and resolves to be honest. If anyone has a hope of reminding Octavia what it is to be _good_ , surely it is him?

"Have you forgiven me for Lincoln yet? Honestly?" He asks, voice low and earnest.

She looks away, evading his glance.

"You haven't. You haven't forgiven me, because losing someone you love that much breaks something inside of you. You haven't forgiven me, and I didn't even kill him. I tried to stop it, even if it was partially my fault. You _did_ kill Clarke." He swallows back tears. "You killed her. It was entirely _your fault_. You cast her out to die. So don't you dare ask me why I'm still angry."

He doesn't wait for his ruler to dismiss him. He simply brushes straight past his sister without another glance.

…...

Clarke is sad and lonely, and it sucks. She's also a doctor, so she knows a thing or two about how the human brain works. She knows that what she needs is company, and self-fulfilment, and a healthy diet and exercise.

Great. Just her luck that she lives with four people and little to do, in a space station, with algae for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

She misses the days when she felt like she belonged somewhere. Like she belonged in her family home, as a child, or at Bellamy's side as a young woman.

She doesn't feel like she has a family any more.

She does her best to salvage what she can. She spends a lot of time with Echo – who, yeah, sure, they're friends now. Echo doesn't belong anywhere either, so it's a mutually convenient friendship.

It's a shame that the best friendships are built on firmer foundations than just convenience.

"Want to play chess?" Echo asks, one afternoon.

Clarke nods, because she knows she is supposed to.

"Want to sit at a chess board and pretend to play chess while we talk about how much we miss the ground?" Echo offers, now, with that cynical humour Clarke is fast coming to appreciate.

Maybe their foundations are not so flimsy after all.

…...

Bellamy knows that Octavia is hiding something, but he has long since given up on understanding what goes on in his sister's head, these days.

"But how do you know Abby needs an ice bath?" He asks, puzzled. Abby's seizures have been getting worse, in recent months, but suddenly, this morning, Octavia is the expert on how to fix them.

"I just do."

"O-"

"It was something Raven told us. Just before she floated herself. She looked at the tech one last time and said Abby should have an ice bath."

Bellamy is convinced that this is weird. The Raven Reyes he knew would not have floated herself if she thought there was a good solution to the problem of how to stay alive. Not to mention, he cannot understand why Raven would have a conversation about how to stop her seizures with Octavia, and not with himself or Abby or Clarke. And why has his sister kept it quiet all this time, anyway?

But Abby is their doctor, and in her odd, shaky way she is his last link to Clarke. And Octavia is his responsibility, for all that she no longer seems to be his sister.

He nods and goes to find Jackson.

…...

Clarke isn't surprised when Echo and Raven start hooking up. She's been wondering for a while if Echo was interested in her, actually, but apparently she was just interested in having _someone_.

No, that's cynical and at least a little cruel. Neither Raven nor Echo are the type to hook up with someone convenient unless they have a genuine interest in them. But in some ways that makes Clarke feel even worse, as she takes it as an implicit rejection.

She is now fifth-wheeling everyone else on the Ring.

That's fine, she tells herself. It's only right that she's single. It makes her feel loyal to Bellamy, in a twisted kind of way.

As her friends pair up, she spends ever more time talking to him.

"I miss you." She tells him, looking down at the Earth and trying to work out where Polis must be. "I know I always tell you that, but it's true. Sorry, you must think that's pathetic. You must think this whole stupid ritual is pathetic."

He doesn't answer. He's a very polite imaginary friend.

"I don't know what to do, Bellamy. Part of me thinks I should give up on you, just like you must have given up on me. I should go ask Raven and Echo if they want some company, or just accept that I'm going to be on my own. But part of me wants to fight for the chance to earn your forgiveness when we get back. I want to show you that I can do better, if you'll give me a chance."

She leaves a little silence, imagines his angry scoff as she wipes away tears.

"I don't think I can give up on you." She swallows, prepares for the ultimate confession. "I love you too much to do that."

…...

Bellamy stops trying to speak to assorted blonde women who are not Clarke, but he doesn't stop missing being loved. If anything, it gets worse, as the two couples he lives with become ever more happily established and he continues to look on in jealous awe.

He tells Clarke he loves her a lot. There doesn't seem any harm in it now she's dead, and cannot reject him or despise him or leave him. Loving Clarke was always a bit frightening, and he always lived in fear that she would run back to Polis or something if he let her know the truth. But now he regrets being so reticent, realising that they could have salvaged a little joy while they waited for the world to burn if only he hadn't been such a damn coward.

She says it back, but only in his mind, of course. That's the problem with being in love with a ghost. Every compliment, every loving word that falls from her lips is just a figment of his own deranged imagination.

Octavia continues to be he only person who loves him in real life, and it's becoming ever more clear that she 'loves' him only for her own ends, and only in a twisted way that has everything to do with duty and nothing to do with actual warmth.

She is merciless in using it to manipulate him.

"I need you to fix this for me, Bell." She says, whatever the issue of the day might be.

"You can fix that. You're _Blodreina_." He says something like that, trying not to spit the words.

"But you'll do it better. I'll feel safer if you fix it for me. Please, Bell. I need you to take care of it for me." Sometimes she adds in a supposed threat to her safety, just for good measure.

"Just this once."

"Thanks, big brother. I love you, you know that?"

Coward that he is, he always nods.

She's getting worse as the years pass by, he's sure of it. She's wielding the death penalty more casually and choosing her words more deliberately. He wishes he had the strength to pull away from her, instead of enabling her reign of terror, but he knows he will always fall in at her side when she reminds him that they were brother and sister, once upon a time.

Besides which, he thinks that he might be the only person who has a hope in hell of moderating her monstrosities.

…...

Clarke doesn't mean to tell anyone that she feels like crap.

She's not an idiot – she knows they know. But there is a difference between _seeing_ their pitying gazes and _asking_ for them. And admitting that she feels terrible feels a lot like asking for pity.

But somehow it happens all the same. She could swear that she used to be proud of her self-control, once upon a time. Back before a door was locked twice and she found herself somehow, inexplicably, on the wrong side in every possible way. Maybe being banished changes a person.

In Clarke's defence, it is Echo who starts the conversation.

"How are you doing? You want to hang out and watch a movie tonight?" She asks, all friendly concern.

"I'm fine."

"So is that yes to a movie?" Echo keeps pushing.

"No. No, thanks. You have fun with Raven."

"Clarke -"

"Really, I'm fine. We don't need to watch a movie together."

"I wondered if you'd _like_ to watch a movie together."

She is hit by an inexplicable bout of honesty. "I wouldn't like to. I don't want to sit there third-wheeling."

"So we can ask Monty and Harper, too."

"That would be even worse." Clarke bites out.

"Clarke -"

"I'm just lonely, OK?" She snaps, angry with Echo for her brusque concern. "I'm lonely, and I'd rather be lonely alone in my room looking out the window and talking to Bellamy like a delusional _idiot_ than be lonely in a room full of happy couples."

She has always hated feeling weak, and this conversation is making her feel absolutely feeble.

She storms out of the room before Echo can utter another word.

…...

Just when Bellamy thinks that his sister cannot grow any worse, she proves him wrong.

It's not her fault the soybean crop fails, of course. And Abby is being entirely logical when she points out that eating human flesh is the only choice. He cannot hold it against either of them that the circumstances are horrible, and they are faced with doing the unthinkable.

Shooting people who won't eat, however – that he can despise.

He hasn't yet taken a bite when Octavia shoots the first dissenter. He runs to grab at her arm, her shoulders, anything to stop her, but Cooper steps in and prevents him from reaching her. In a funny loop of repeating history, he finds himself shocklashed and writhing on the floor.

At least this is the dining hall, rather than that cursed office.

By the time he regains his senses and gets to his feet, over a dozen people lie dead at his sister's hand for the crime of refusing to eat.

It breaks something inside of him, snaps clean through his last strand of sanity, finishes him off in a way that not even Clarke's death could pull him apart. If his sister is shooting people for refusing to eat human flesh, then she is not his sister any more. He will not be part of her monstrous rule. And if he's not supporting her, and not supporting Clarke, then really, he has no purpose here, any more.

He might as well refuse the meat and pray that there's a forgiving god.

If there is, he might get to see Clarke again, he thinks. He might get to apologise to her for failing to save her. He might get to apologise to his mother for his many mistakes, apologise to Roma and Gina for losing their lives then getting on with his own.

Steeling his resolve, he looks right into Octavia's eyes.

"I'm not eating it. You'd best make it a quick, clean kill."

…...

Clarke realises very quickly that Echo has shared the news of her minor meltdown with their friends. She's a bit annoyed about that, she decides – but she can't be too annoyed. These people are her only family, now, after all.

It becomes clear when Monty starts to speak at the dinner table the following night.

"There's something I wanted to talk about. There's this story I remember, and I think it would be interesting to discuss it. Maybe we could analyse it and see what we can learn." Clarke rolls her eyes. Monty likes to tell them about nitrogen fertiliser at the dinner table, but this is the first time he's delved into literary analysis.

"Go ahead." Raven waves a careless hand.

"Great. So. Once there was this time that Bellamy and I were out in the rover. There were other people too, but that's not important for the story. And then we learned that Clarke was in danger, and Bellamy caught sight of her across a field. She was with Roan, but we didn't know he was reasonable at the time." Monty concedes, with a careful nod at Echo.

"Carry on." Echo says, with a sad smile. "I think I get the idea. What can we infer from the fact that Bellamy recognised her from the other side of a field?"

"Exactly." Monty nods.

"That he was freaking obsessed with her. Carry on." Raven contributes.

Clarke listens, helpless and tearful, as he continues.

"Raven's right. There's a lot more to this story. So then an Azgeda army appear, and what does Bellamy do? While the rest of us are hiding in a cave, he steals clothes from one of them and walks right through the middle of the army to look for Clarke."

"I think that implies she was very important to him." Harper points out, with staged nonchalance.

"Exactly." Monty nods with great dignity, and Clarke wonders whether he is high or just an incredibly strange but wonderfully caring friend. "Consider, also, that this was _after_ she walked off from the gates of Camp Jaha, leaving him to face his demons alone. He forgave her for that, and _still_ cared about her so much he walked through the middle of an army to look for her."

"Remind us what happened when he found her?" Raven prompts him, and Clarke begins to get the sense that this conversation has been carefully planned.

"He got his ass kicked. Roan stabbed him. And _still_ he was desperately trying to go after them. I practically had to drag him home again."

"Sounds like he was in love." Raven says airily.

"Sounds like he was _still_ in love, even though he was upset with her for leaving." Monty emphasises.

Clarke bites her lip, hard, and feels the salty blood blend with the salty tears that are still trickling down her cheeks. She doesn't deserve friends like this, and she definitely doesn't deserve Bellamy's forgiveness.

But maybe forgiveness isn't about what she deserves.

"You got it wrong, Monty. You missed out the reason why he got his ass kicked. He didn't see Roan coming until it was too late. He was too busy... erm, he was stroking my face."

There is a moment's pause. Clarke can hear her own damp breathing, half way to sobbing, and the roar of her heart in her ears.

And then Raven throws back her head and laughs.

…...

Bellamy laughs when he wakes up to find himself chained up in the same sorry room he was chained in while Clarke was burning to death. He's fed up of this – fed up of grief, fed up of hopelessness. He doesn't understand why Octavia couldn't just do him the favour of shooting him.

He laughs hysterically, tearfully, for a long time. And when he is finished, he starts speaking to Clarke.

"Here we go again. You know, I hate this room even more each time I end up here. No point struggling this time, though, is there? You're not – you're not _there_. I hope you're somewhere. I hope we _do_ meet again. I just need to see your face one more time."

He chokes on a stray sob, shakes his head. There is no point falling apart over Clarke yet again. His heart is already in enough pieces as it is.

"What should I do, do you think? You were always full of bright ideas. Strangle her with the chains when she gets back here? Put Miller or Indra on the throne in her place?"

He can practically see her, crouched at his side, shaking her head. He can practically _feel_ her, the soft touch of ghostly skin whispering over his cheek.

"You're right. I can't do that. Just – stay with me? Please?"

Of course she does. There's one big difference between the real Clarke and the phantom he's been talking to all these years.

This Clarke never leaves him, and he knows she never will.

…...

The following morning, at breakfast, it is evidently Raven's turn to remind Clarke that she is loved.

"Hey, guys? You know how we talked about that story yesterday? I've got another one I think could be interesting."

Clarke rolls her eyes. "You know you're all terrible at acting?"

"I'm great at acting." Raven argues with spirit.

It is Echo who understands Clarke's real point, of course. She knows what it is like, to be banished and leave without a goodbye. "We won't talk about it if you don't want." She says.

Clarke shakes her head. "It's fine. It's good. Thanks. It was – it actually helped, I think."

Satisfied, Raven begins. "I met this woman once. Abby Griffin, her name was. She wanted me to take her down to Earth in a hundred year old rocket with a dodgy pressure regulator, all because she had this kid on the ground."

"She must have really loved that kid." Harper contributes.

"Yeah. It seems that way, doesn't it?" Monty echoes.

Clarke has to admit it – she can think of worse things to discuss over breakfast.

…...

Bellamy is ready for Octavia when she arrives. He has planned his words – a logical argument about how she is ruling her people all wrong. Clarke was proud of him, when they planned it together. But then Octavia shows up and rips his careful plan to shreds.

"You can't refuse, Bellamy. You're my brother. It reflects badly on me." He is baffled by that, stunned that her authority is of more importance to her than his wellbeing.

It makes him throw caution to the wind.

"I wish I'd never opened that door." He tells her, matter of fact.

"What?"

"The door of the bunker. I wish I'd never opened it to let you in."

She gapes in shock. "You don't – you can't mean that."

"I do mean it." He assures her, completely at peace with his words. "I opened the door to save my sister, but she wasn't there. It was too late to save her." He heaves in a breath. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for everything that happened to you, and I take responsibility for the things that were my fault. But not all of it was my fault." There is a surprising clarity which comes with his decision to let go of the duty he has been clinging to, all these years. The horror of what he watched her do has washed away the last of his doubts, snapped him out of his deluded devotion.

"Bell -"

"No. I'm done. _We're_ done."

Any woman who can kill people for refusing to become cannibals is no sister of his.

…...

There are other stories for other meals, after that. Harper tells anecdotes from the weeks before the death wave, describes the way that Bellamy was devoted to sticking close by Clarke's side.

"That's noteworthy." Monty declares, in careful analysis mode. "He'd been angry with her, when he followed Pike not long before. But he loved her so much that he put that behind him and got on with keeping her safe."

Clarke smiles fondly. She's getting the hang of these lessons in her own worth, now, and doesn't bother questioning why they talk about her as if she is not here, or as if she does not remember her own love story.

Raven reminds them that Abby smashed up a radiation chamber to keep Clarke safe. She's not convinced it was her mother's finest moment, but she supposes it does go a long way, as proof of the depths of her love.

Even Echo joins in, on occasion.

"I didn't see you together much, but even I could see how he felt." She states. "That's why I thought waiting at the door was a good plan. You remember that time I had a sword to your throat and he looked terrified?" Clarke nods. She can scarcely imagine the days when Echo went around holding swords to her throat, now.

"You know, I'm starting to think this Bellamy guy must really love Clarke." Raven adds, helpful as ever.

Maybe, Clarke begins to wonder, there might be things in life that are so important, so fundamental and enduring and _true_ that they can withstand the occasional locked door.

…...

Bellamy doesn't understand why he's still in his cell. It's a good few hours, now, since he lost his temper and told Blodreina he wished she had died four years ago. He has a feeling that such behaviour is usually punished by death.

That's OK, he decides. His reason for living, these last four years, has been to fulfil his duty to his sister. And if his sister is really gone, and their relationship dissolved, he figures he might as well get on with finding out if there's any chance of seeing Clarke again on the other side.

"You doing alright?" He asks Clarke, even though he knows she's not real. He hasn't _completely_ lost his mind, see. But he does have a feeling that she took most of his limited good sense with her when she died.

She doesn't reply, of course, because she's a figment of his imagination. So he just sits tight and pretends that he can feel her warmth by his side.

He is startled when the door opens.

"Bellamy?" The voice is Octavia's.

He grunts. He doesn't see much point in speaking to her.

"Bellamy?" She tries again.

"What?" He snaps, looking up at her. He wants to get back to losing his wits in peace, thank you very much.

There is a pause, in which he frowns in confusion. She looks _sad_ , but that can't be right. She hasn't show any real emotion in at least two years. Maybe since that conversation they had about Lincoln, he thinks.

All at once, words and tears are spilling out of her. "I'm sorry, Bell. I'm so sorry. I took it too far. I didn't – don't know what else to do. I'm no good at this. It should be you. Or – or _Clarke_. All I ever do is get it wrong. And somehow – the more I get it wrong, the more I feel like I have to keep going down that road. And now I don't know how to undo it."

He can feel her tears softening his resolve, and he hates it. He's fed up of her manipulating him.

Or is she being genuine, this time?

It makes no difference, he decides. It's too little, too late.

"You can't undo it." He tells her, firm.

"I know. I know I can't go back. I know I can't – I can't save her, Bell." She shakes her head, a frantic mess, not at all the calm and collected queen he has come to know. "But I want to do better from now on. I don't want to kill any more."

He frowns. Is this a trick? "You mean that?"

"I do. I really mean it. Will you help me? Can I – could we try to fix this?"

He doesn't want anyone else to die. That's what decides it, in the end. "I'll help you fix your mess. You need to learn that speaking, not killing, is the way to run things. But you can't fix _us_."

…...

Clarke realises she is loved, now. She might not be so confident about whether she will ever make things right with Bellamy, or whether she and her mother will ever truly be family again. But clearly she is loved by her family in the sky – she can see no other rational explanation for the amount of time and effort they have put into showing her how loved she is, of late.

She tries to repay the favour. She tells Monty about Jasper's devotion to their friendship, reminds Raven of all the ways that Wick went out of his way to bring joy into her life. She reminds Harper that Monty stayed with her at the end of the world, and that's not something to take lightly.

It's harder to know what to say to Echo. For one thing, Clarke has no evidence that Roan ever loved her. But she tells more recent stories, about caring conversations over chess and about conspiracies to boost self-esteem over breakfast.

She's beginning to remember what it feels like to belong.

…...

Bellamy has no intention of fixing his relationship with Octavia. He writes her a few speeches – assurance that no more people will be shot, calls for solidarity and endurance. He helps her to calculate that the flesh of the dissenters she shot, carefully rationed, will be enough protein to see them through the soybean crop failure without using the death penalty ever again. It's a grim solution – beyond grim – but it will have them survive without further casualties, and in the meantime, they are trying to work out how to go about getting their humanity back.

Octavia, on the other hand, is evidently desperate to fix her relationship with him. It's as if the realisation that he would honestly choose death – for either or both of them – over the mess she has made has dragged her, kicking and screaming, out of the dark place she had gone to.

"There's another thing I need to tell you. I'm sorry." She begins.

They've had at least three conversations a day like this since she had him freed. He thinks she must have apologised for every individual death sentence twice over by now.

"I don't want to hear it." He tells her, working on plans for the school curriculum.

"You'll want to hear this." She sucks in a breath. "Raven was alive."

"What do you mean?" Obviously Raven was alive, until she was dead.

"I mean – she was alive when we locked the doors. When I – when I banished Clarke. She wanted to get back here and live. I – I killed her too, Bell."

He thought he was beyond being shocked, but his little sister just keeps surprising him.

"You – _what_?"

"I killed her too. Clarke wanted to go fetch her but I said she couldn't. I banished her instead." Another heaving breath. "I'm sorry. I know it's no excuse but – I knew _you'd_ go with her."

"Of course I would." He'd follow Clarke to the ends of the Earth, and certainly to save a friend.

"So I had to send her away, and I had to keep you here safe. I'm sorry – I wasn't thinking straight. I was scared. I didn't know what else to do."

Bellamy thinks that a bit of fear is a crap excuse for killing two people he cared about.

…...

Clarke thinks she's doing OK. She knows they will get back to the ground in a year or so – Raven has managed to scrounge together enough fuel. She hopes that she might be able to salvage some kind of positive relationship with her mother, and even with Bellamy – they have done well with forgiveness, thus far, after all. And in the meantime, she has good friends to talk to during the day, as well as her quiet conversations with Bellamy by night.

She thinks she's doing OK, until Echo ruins her careful composure.

"I've got a story for today." Echo declares at the dinner table.

"Go ahead." Clarke nods, no longer so embarrassed by this game. It's not all about her, these days, anyway. They share the stories around.

"Great. I want to tell the story of Bellamy opening the door."

Clarke is confused by that. Bellamy opening the door to let his sister in seems an unusual choice of motivational tale, given the circumstances. All the same, she nods, uncertain.

Echo picks up the tale. "We met outside the door, you and me, Clarke. And we chatted for a while, and then Monty and Harper came along and the rest is history."

Clarke nods again. She's not sure what this has to do with Bellamy letting Octavia into the bunker.

"I want to talk about what happened after that. When your mother and Bellamy hatched a plan to get the door open. I guess Jackson and Miller helped too, from what you guys have said about them. Maybe they distracted Octavia while your mum and Bellamy worked on the door. Either way, they did it. It was Bellamy who ran up the stairs and got the door open. And then you weren't there, of course, because we'd left. So he cried, and I'm betting he punched something. He looked around, desperate to find you. He found the rover tracks eventually. And that's when he knew. He knew that you'd hatched one of your plans and that you were going to be OK. That's when he realised you'd figured something out and you'll see each other again when the radiation is gone."

Clarke is crying now. Of course she is, great heaving sobs that wrack her whole frame. Harper is patting at her arm, but Echo looks completely unrepentant. Sympathetic, sure, but not guilty in the slightest.

"That's not what happened." Clarke chokes out. "It's not real."

"I think it happened. And whether or not it happened, it still feels real, don't you think?" Echo argues back.

Clarke nods, because that's the problem. It does feel real. It feels like something that Bellamy would really do – but only the Bellamy she talks to at night, not the real, angry Bellamy, buried in the ground.

That thought makes her cry even harder.

…...

Octavia has said sorry a lot, in recent months. She has apologised time and again. But still she shows no sign of flagging.

"I'm sorry, Bell."

He grunts. He's not sure whether she's sorry for the glass of water she just knocked over, or for killing the love of his life, but either way, he's not interested in hearing it.

"I should have known better. You were right – I was devastated to lose Lincoln. I should have realised that losing Clarke would be like that for you."

Another grunt.

"I know I can never put this right. But I'm going to spend the rest of our lives showing you how sorry I am."

This time he goes crazy and actually nods at her, before getting back on with his reading.

…...

Clarke still apologises to Bellamy a lot, even though she knows he can't really hear her. Even though she's aware that she's somehow replaced him with a figment of her imagination. But her apologies are slightly saner than they were three years or so ago – these days, she actually tells him she is sorry for specific things and hopes to earn his forgiveness, rather than simply grovelling into thin air.

"I'm sorry, Bellamy."

She leaves an appropriate pause for him to nod, stiffly, an permit her to continue.

"I should have known better. You were right – locking that door was wrong. It went against the rules of the conclave. And I should have realised that losing Octavia would break you."

Another pause, just in case he wants to acknowledge what she has said. Even if he doesn't, she can at least take a moment to observe the unyielding line of his jaw and decide whether he's any closer to forgiving her.

"I know I can never put this right. But I'm going to spend the rest of our lives showing you how sorry I am."

Sometimes, late at night when she's really losing her grip on reality, she allows herself to pretend that he whispers forgiveness to her through the darkness.

…...

Bellamy doesn't want Octavia to wear him down. She's done so many things that are too disgusting for him to comprehend. He's rational enough – just about – to see that banishing one woman she perceived as a traitor is nothing compared to shooting dozens for their refusal to eat. So, yeah, she's done a lot wrong, and he shouldn't even be considering forgiveness.

But somehow he is. Forgiveness isn't about what a person deserves, after all. Clarke taught him that.

He tries to explain some of this to Clarke, late one night, grateful that Miller remains prone to snoring.

"I think I might try talking to her." He whispers up at Clarke's bunk. "Not to forgive her right away, not necessarily. But just because – I think she might still be my sister. Or she might be my sister _again_. She's trying, she really is."

There's a pause. He reckons that if Clarke were here now, she'd be rolling over in her bunk, and peeping her head over the edge to look down at him.

He continues. "You taught me a lot about forgiveness. I used to find it difficult before I met you. Or maybe I do still find it difficult, and it's only easy with you. I don't know."

She nods, encouraging. Or she would, if she were here.

"I can't forgive myself, either, for not making it to the door. You'd forgive me, but I can't. And you'd tell me to forgive her. Which is stupid, because she _killed you_."

And yet, somehow, in stolen whispers and plumped pillows and hidden letters, she lives on.

…...

Clarke is feeling livelier with every day that passes, as the time to return to the ground draws closer. She's started making a conscious effort to spend her days on useful things, now, on chess and on Trig lessons with Echo, and agriculture lessons with Monty, rather than only on gazing out of the window and talking to nobody. Or rather to _somebody_ , just somebody very much absent.

She does still talk to him, but she's trying to keep it relevant and useful, these days.

"Monty thinks we could use his algae as fertiliser so we wouldn't just be limited to that green space." She tells Bellamy as she lies in bed one night.

He would make a sort of unimpressed huffing noise, if he were here.

"I know that doesn't sound exciting. But think about it. That means everyone can spread out and have a bit more independence. No more living cramped together like in the bunker. Each family can have their own farm, if they want."

She's still not sure which family would claim her as their own, whose farm she would live on.

She tells him that. Not to be self-pitying, or anything, just because he's her imaginary best friend, and he's the only person she can tell.

She must be feeling weak, tonight. Because tonight, instead of him brushing her off with an awkward little joke or even pulling her in for a comforting hug, he takes things a step further. She imagines him curled up at her side in the bed, spooning her closely, whispering words of reassurance into her hair.

…...

It takes him a while, but Bellamy does have that conversation with Octavia in the end, just weeks before they open the doors. It feels better, somehow, to clear the air and leave this one down here than to take his open resentment back up to the ground with him.

"We should talk." He declares.

She looks surprised, and he doesn't blame her. He's shown precious little interest in talking to her in over a year.

"What did you want to say?" She sits at his side, giving him her full attention.

"I'm still angry with you." He begins, because that needs saying. "I think I always will be. And I can't forgive you yet for what you did. But – you're my sister. And we're not good, and we might never be, but I want us to get on with our lives."

"OK." She nods, a little frantic. "I want that, too. I'm so sorry, Bell. I'm really touched that you're ready to say even that much."

He swallows heavily, and says the last thing that needs to be said. "You didn't kill her. Not quite. You made her die – she's dead because of you – but you didn't run her through with a sword. I think that's important."

"Nice try." Octavia says, tone bitter. "I killed her, Bell. I knew she would die. That's on me. You can't protect me from this one, big brother."

That's when he realises his little sister has grown up. She hasn't grown up into a good woman, any more than she was ever allowed to be an innocent child. But she's taking her substantial mistakes on the chin, and that's all he can ask for, now.

…...

Clarke counts a lot, as the day to return to Earth draws near. She counts fuel canisters, because Raven asks her to. She says something about a sanity check, which Clarke finds laughable, because she doesn't remember what sanity feels like, any more. She counts dried algae rations, not sure why Monty thinks they need so many rations for their trip to the ground. She counts bullets for Harper and potential threats, tucked in the trees of their future home, for Echo.

For herself she counts mistakes, because mistakes are the tools of her trade.

She counts the mistakes for Bellamy, too. She has a feeling that owning her mistakes is the first step on the road to forgiveness.

As for her mother, she has no idea what to count for her. She has no idea how to make her mother love her, hasn't recognised her more than three minutes a month in all the years since Jake Griffin was arrested.

Maybe, when she arrives back to the ground, she might have a go at putting that right.

…...

Bellamy is going up topside tomorrow.

He wasn't surprised when his sister invited him to be the one to scout up there. He's at home in dangerous situations, and visibly desperate to get out of this wretched hole in the ground. He's surprised she agreed to let him go alone, though. She tried to insist on him taking Murphy and Emori along, on the basis that they seem immune to trouble, but he stood firm.

He doesn't want their company. He's looking forward to taking a road trip with Clarke.

They're banking on the one rover left by the door still being functional, and he clutches the precious keys in his hand, now, as he prepares for what might well be this last night in this bed. Even if he does come back, he won't do so for a good few days or weeks – not until he knows everything there is to know about the brave new world up there.

"You excited to go outside?" Miller asks him, all good cheer.

"Yeah. It'll be good to get out of here." He pauses, realises how that sounds. "You've been great roommates. Really. But I need some fresh air."

"I think we all do."

He realises that, maybe, he is selfish to take this mission alone. "I'm sorry -"

"Don't be. It should be you, Bellamy. You'll do a good job. And – it'll give you some privacy to say goodbye to Clarke."

He almost laughs at that. He's been trying to say goodbye to Clarke for years. And yeah, sure, he's worried about being confronted with her skeleton tomorrow, but in the grand scheme of things he doesn't think it'll send him out of his mind with grief.

He's already there.

He stays up late making his preparations. He packs his bag, checks his proposed route for the tenth time. He plumps Clarke's pillow for her, of course he does, because he needs her to be well-rested if they're going to have a good road trip tomorrow.

Yeah. Worrying about the sleep patterns of a ghost is _definitely_ a bad sign.

That's when he realises it. He's never going to say goodbye to her. Clarke will be with him always, and maybe that's OK.

It's that resolution that gives him the courage to slip the precious bundle of letters from beneath his pillow and place it under hers, instead. If she's sticking around, maybe it's about time she read them.

…...

Clarke is fizzing with excitement as they load the rocket on Earth day, but she's also fizzing with nerves. Her friends realise that, she can tell – they make a game attempt to be uplifting as they bustle about the place.

"Home sweet home." Monty says, with a gesture down at the green space.

"Abby's going to be so relieved." Raven states. "And this rocket is better than the last one I took this trip in."

"You'll always have us, no matter what happens." Harper comments, with a squeeze of her arm.

Echo, of course, has a slightly sharper contribution to make. "I'm telling you, he opened that door."

That's the hope she holds on to, as they plummet to Earth.

…...

Bellamy opens the door and breathes the fresh air with a vivid sense of relief. He revels in it, just for a moment, spinning around and around like a small child.

That's when he realises it. There's no body here.

That makes sense, he tells himself. Clarke is – was – no idiot. She was probably off trying to find a last minute way to save the world, not sitting by the door and waiting for death to come for her.

He spares a second – just a second – to be sorry that her body isn't here. Because if it was, that would mean she kept faith in him to the last. That would mean she was waiting here, holding onto hope that he would open the door and rescue her.

It's no surprise that she gave up on him, he reminds himself firmly. He failed her, and that's that.

He finds the rover, safely protected from falling rubble in the shell of a sturdy old structure. To his relief – and surprise – it starts first time. He thinks that might be the first bit of good luck he's ever had on the ground.

It's a great road trip, in the end. Clarke is on the front seat – or at least, he imagines that she is – and he tells her how relieved he is to be out on the ground once more.

"It's like I can breathe again, you know? Do you feel that?"

She doesn't feel that, of course, because she can't breathe. She can't breathe because she's dead, and it's largely his fault.

He shakes his head. This is a day for hope, and for the future. It's a day for driving towards the ruins of Arkadia and seeing what he can find.

That plan changes very abruptly when he sees the rocket fall from the sky. He doesn't understand how there could possibly be a rocket. Some other survivors, from some other continent or space station or planet? How could he not know about them, and who on Earth could they be?

He turns and drives in the direction of where he saw the rocket fall, of course. Clarke chastises him brightly from the passenger seat, tells him to use his head and be less impulsive, but he's not taking advice from a ghost.

It's difficult, driving in the direction of a falling object. It's not an exact science. But he keeps trying, and before the light fails him he is stumbling upon a clearing with a small passenger ship in the centre.

That's when his world is turned on its head. Because there, in front of him, unloading crates from the rocket, is Monty.

He can't believe it. He simply cannot believe it, but there is no doubt that it is true. The Clarke by his side tuts that it is surely just another ghost, but he ignores her. He's not a complete idiot – he knows the difference.

He leaps from the rover, and jogs across the clearing.

"Monty!"

His old friend turns at the sound of his voice, runs forward to pull him into a hug.

"Bellamy, hey! We didn't think we'd see you so soon!"

"How did you -?" His question tails off as new voices join the throng.

"Bellamy?" That is Harper. "He's here already?"

"Harper!"

"Bellamy?" Echo of all people appears, to his total confusion.

"What happened?" Bellamy asks, thoroughly perplexed. "How are you all alive?"

That's when he sees her. That's Clarke darting out from behind the rocket. Real Clarke, _living_ Clarke, with her lips pressed into that little half-smile and her hair swinging about her shoulders.

It's Clarke.

No, that still hasn't sunk in.

It's _Clarke_.

"You're alive!" He cries the words, stumbling towards her, desperate for a hug. "How is this possible? You're – you're alive!" She nods, shy, walking towards him in turn.

"Hey." She greets him, eyes averted.

He stops abruptly, then. She's not looking at him. Why is she not looking at him? She must still be angry with him for not saving her, he realises. She must be furious that his sister banished her. She hasn't forgiven him for his failure.

He halts where he stands, arms sagging at his sides.

Raven appears, reaching out for a hug and covering the awkward moment. He hugs Harper, too, and even Echo – it seems that she is at least a friend of a friend, now.

But he can't hug Clarke, because she doesn't want a hug. He doesn't blame her – in her shoes, he wouldn't want a hug either.

…...

Clarke just wants a hug, but it seems Bellamy doesn't want a hug. She was so sure he was going to hug her, when he started approaching just now, but then he stopped, so – that's that, she supposes.

She doesn't blame him. She locked his sister out and waved a gun at him, last time they were together. In his shoes, she wouldn't want a hug either.

She gives him a brittle smile, and gets on with unpacking the rocket.

"How did you survive?" Bellamy asks for the third time.

Raven answers. "Did you notice the rocket?"

"Very funny. Really, though – how? I – I know Octavia cast Clarke out."

"And Echo." Raven contributes. "Monty and Harper drove them to meet me, we flew to space. Simple."

Bellamy doesn't seem to think it is so simple. He makes a series of sort of choking noises, but Clarke schools herself not to listen. She has a rocket to unpack.

"Can we load this lot into the rover?" Monty asks.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. I'm supposed to be taking a few days and finding somewhere for Wonkru to settle but – this takes priority, doesn't it? I can drive back to the bunker with you guys and your stuff and then we can work out what happens next."

"Sounds like a plan." Raven agrees.

"Everyone's going to be so happy to see you." Bellamy offers, voice sounding a little funny. Clarke doesn't much believe him, but it's a nice sentiment, she supposes. "Abby and Kane and Miller and Murphy and – and everyone, really."

"Murphy's alive?" Clarke cannot help but ask in her surprise. He wasn't on the list.

"Yeah. And Emori. I made Octavia give them your places." He gestures between her and Raven.

Well, then. She's been replaced by John Murphy. It looks like she's never going to get that hug.

She keeps quiet as they load the rover. She keeps quiet, too, as Bellamy asks who wants to sit up front with him and Monty volunteers. She can't help feeling that the front seat of any rover Bellamy is driving ought to be hers, somehow, but he doesn't seem to feel the same way. She keeps quiet as they drive back to Polis, Echo and Raven sitting close together, Harper leaning through the gap between the front seats to chat to Monty and Bellamy.

She keeps quiet, leaning up against the back of the rover, imagining the Bellamy she spoke to on the Ring by her side. He's quite different from the real Bellamy, she realises now. He's warmer, and more forgiving, and altogether more fond of hugs.

…...

The real, living Clarke is different from the ghost he has been speaking to for the last five years, it turns out. She's better, of course she is, because she's breathing, and there's some hope that he might be able to stumble through an apology to her one day. But he cannot help but feel that there are ways in which she is worse, too. She's less warm and forgiving, and she doesn't give hugs. And apart from anything else, she seems to have forgotten that the passenger seat of the rover is hers, as long as he is driving.

He makes the best of it. He chats away with Monty and Harper, fishing with absolutely no subtlety for any news at all of how Clarke has been getting on these last five years, and whether there is so much as the slimmest chance that he might be able to put things right. Monty seems quite encouraging, dropping little hints that Clarke was a bit sad and lonely, and that she's happy to be reunited with him.

If this is her looking happy, he'd hate to imagine how wretched she was when she was sad.

They reach Polis almost too quickly, just as night is falling.

"Let's leave most of the stuff here for the morning." He suggests. "Bring an overnight bag and come with me."

"We can't go inside." Clarke speaks up, visibly horrified.

"What do you mean?"

"Bellamy. Come on. Your sister _banished_ me and Echo. We can't go inside."

She doesn't know, he realises. She doesn't know, because the conversations he has had over the last year about his sister's change of heart and desire for forgiveness were held with her ghost, and not with her.

"You don't need to worry about that. She – she really regretted what she did, Clarke. You'll all be safe, I promise."

"Even me?" Echo seems dubious.

"Even you. All of you."

"There are no spaces. No spare beds." Clarke continues, adamant that she will not budge. That hurts, even more than the rejected hug. It's like she can't even bear to spend the night in the same building as him.

"There are some. We... we lost some people along the way. There's a spare four-bed room next door to my dorm, if you guys want to take it." He gestures to the two happy couples.

They nod, and smile, and it seems like he is winning this argument.

Then Clarke makes it clear that he hasn't won yet.

"What about me?" She asks, in a small voice that he does not associate with Clarke.

Of course. Yet another thing he has only told her in his mind.

"You've already got a bed." He clears his throat noisily. "In my dorm. The bunk above mine. It's just – that was supposed to be your bunk, before. So we kept it for you."

"You kept it for me?"

"I kept it for you." He repeats imperfectly, letting slip the truth.

"Even though you thought I was dead?"

He nods, throat thick with tears. "You'll see." He chokes the words out.

She nods, and grabs a small bag from the back of the rover, and follows him without further complaint. This is all very strange, he decides. The way she flips between not wanting hugs, and refusing to enter the bunker, and now suddenly she's willing to spend the night scarcely an arm's length away from him.

The Clarke who existed only in his head made much more sense.

He shows the four of them to the dorm next door. He knows he ought to go to his sister as a matter of urgency and tell her about their unexpected guests, but he figures it'll wait. It'll wait at least until he's shown Clarke a warm welcome to the room that should have been hers for the last five years.

He's almost nervous as he opens the door. He's definitely nervous as he crosses towards the bed, and slips the sheaf of letters out from under her pillow. It looks like they might need to go back to their usual spot after all.

"What are those?" She asks, with a flash of the familiar curiosity he associates with her.

"Letters." He mumbles, shoving them under his pillow.

"Letters?"

"Yeah. Letters. Just – they're letters, OK?"

She nods, but she's frowning. "Whose bed is this?" She asks, gesturing at her bed.

Has she lost her mind, too, while they've been apart?

"Yours." He tells her firmly.

"Why is it made? I've never slept in it."

He swallows thickly. "I made it for you. That first night."

"You made my bed and wrote me letters?" She repeats, as if she is struggling to understand these two relatively simple developments. He could swear she used to be brighter than this.

"Yeah."

"Why?" She looks genuinely flummoxed. "I don't get it. Why would you do that? You were angry with me for locking your sister out. You were furious with me, and she told me you wouldn't even miss me."

He shakes his head firmly. "No. That's not right. That's – that's completely wrong, Clarke. I was _looking for you_ when she locked you out. I wanted to start putting things -"

He is cut off abruptly by a hug so firm and so sudden it squeezes the air from his lungs. He's hardly complaining, though, as he wraps his arms around Clarke in turn and revels in the feeling of having her in his embrace again after all these years. She's maybe a little thinner, he thinks, and her hair is a little softer. But other than that she's much the same – she even _smells_ like he remembers – and the way she hugs him with all her heart and soul, nose buried in his neck and hands clasped around him, is resolutely unchanged.

He's crying noisily, tears dripping into her hair, but he's altogether too happy to care.

…...

Clarke's crying, her tears soaking Bellamy's soft black shirt, but she doesn't care. She's got him in her arms again, talking about putting things right, and she doesn't intend to ever let go.

With that in mind she starts a conversation while her face is still buried in his neck.

"I'm so sorry. About the door and the conclave and Octavia. You have to know I didn't mean to hurt you. And I never would have shot you, Bellamy, I couldn't have -"

"I know." He tells her, and his voice sounds funny. "I know, Clarke. I'm so sorry I couldn't stop her. I tried to go get the door open for you but she locked me up."

"Don't apologise for that." She orders him, firm.

"I need to. I've been feeling guilty about it for the last five years."

She is silent for a moment, thinking. But then she works out what he needs to hear. "I forgive you."

"I forgive you, too." He tells her, squeezing her even tighter.

She doesn't know what to talk about next. She wants to know how things stand with his sister – how is it possible that she cast Clarke out and locked Bellamy up, but he has told them that they will be safe here? She wants to know how he has been the last five years, and wants to tell him everything she told him when he was too many thousands of miles away to hear her.

But she says something very different in the end.

"Can I read the letters?" She asks.

He stiffens slightly. "Maybe later. I – not yet. Sorry." She pulls back, just far enough to see the tension in his face. "Can we just chat first? I've really missed you." He admits, not meeting her eyes.

She grins, and buries her face back into his collarbone. "That sounds great, Bellamy. I've really missed you, too."

…...

Bellamy can't believe it. Clarke is real and alive and sitting cross-legged on his bed talking about the last five years. She's eating a ration bar, too, because he wasn't about to waste time taking her to the canteen. He popped out for a whole five minutes just now, barely long enough to tell his sister that they had unexpected guests and receive her sincere good wishes. At the same time Clarke headed to reunite with her mother, and she said it went well, but she's come back to the room all the same. So now he's holed up in his dorm with Clarke, making it _their_ dorm as it always should have been.

"Tell me about the algae." He urges her, as he folds up his limbs and settles in at her side. He's close enough to touch, close enough to be a little more than friendly, but not so close as to be inappropriate – or at least, that's what he's aiming for.

"It sucked." She says with a light laugh. "Better than starving to death, I guess."

"Better than some of the things we ate." He mutters darkly.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

She fixes him with a stare that makes it perfectly plain she does not believe him.

"OK, it wasn't nothing." He concedes. "But it's not something to talk about tonight. Can we please get back to the algae?"

She frowns a little, and reaches out to squeeze his knee before continuing. "The first batch put me in a coma for a week. That wasn't great."

"But you're OK now? No lasting side effects?"

She twists her lips into an affectionate grin. "You worry too much, you know that?"

"Only about you." He states, and hands her another ration bar despite her protestations.

This feels too good to be true, but he's not about to complain.

…...

Clarke can't believe it. She's sitting cross-legged on Bellamy's bed talking about the last five years, and he doesn't show the slightest sign of discomfort or bearing a grudge. In fact, he seems genuinely ecstatic to see her, and as the hours draw on and those around them head to bed, he shows no indication of being ready to give up and call it a night.

"I'm sorry." He says at one point, after Miller has long since started to snore. "It's late and I've hogged your company all evening. You must have wanted to see your mum."

"I saw her for a bit. It was great and all, but she has Kane. I'd rather be here with you." Her mother was genuinely glad to see her, but she's not about to give up on this moment with Bellamy.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I can go catch up with her properly tomorrow."

He nods, and she can pick out his warm grin despite the half-darkness.

"You two can catch up properly tomorrow." Murphy's voice hisses from the shadows. "Some of us are trying to sleep, here. Go to bed."

"Is that the thanks I get for giving you my spot?" Clarke asks him, teasing.

He snorts, swears a little, and rustles his bedsheets.

To her disappointment, though, Bellamy seems to agree with Murphy. He wishes her goodnight, and hugs her tightly, and sends her back up to her perfectly-made bunk.

He even stands up to plump her pillow, which, yeah, that's weird. But it's also enormously sweet, so she lets it slide.

…...

Bellamy can't sleep.

That's not unusual, of course. He's been phenomenally bad at sleeping, these last five years, as a rule. But normally when he couldn't sleep he would talk to Clarke or write to Clarke or faff with Clarke's bedding, and it feels a bit weird to do those things now that it turns out Clarke is alive and very much present.

He can't believe his luck. That's why he can't sleep. He's fizzing with excitement and disbelief and a thousand other things besides.

In the end he admits defeat, and whispers into the darkness.

"Clarke? You awake?"

Immediately there is a scuffling sound, and then she peers over the edge of her bunk, hair falling around her face as she smiles down at him. It ought to be a scene out of one of his delusional haunted dreams, but it's _real_ , and it makes his heart swell with joy.

"Yeah?" She asks brightly.

"Sorry. Just checking you were still there." He swallows awkwardly. "I just can't believe you're alive. I guess I'm having a little trouble letting you out of my sight."

"I get that." She murmurs down to him. "I feel the same."

He hesitates, not sure if his next words are wise. But then again, he was never the wise one, out of the two of them.

"I would have suggested we share my bunk but I didn't want to make you uncomfortable." He says carefully.

She doesn't answer, or at least not in words. Rather, she slides down the ladder from her bunk so quickly he is worried she might have an accident, and pulls back the covers so briskly that it is almost _rough_ , and deposits herself in the bed at his side. She doesn't stop there, either, but snuggles right into his chest, and he finds that his arms are around her quite of their own accord.

"Looks like my bunk is never going to get much use." She says, sounding like she doesn't much regret it.

He grins, and chuckles a little into the darkness. It's amazing how much Clarke has made him smile just in the few short hours she's been home. She's always had that talent, of course, but it's good to know that this is one thing that has not changed in their time apart.

That gets him thinking about something rather important. He ought to leave it a bit longer, if he were being rational, he thinks. She's not the same person she used to be, and he isn't either. Their five years apart – his five years thinking she was _dead_ – will haunt them forever. But he doesn't know when fate might snatch her away again, and he figures it's better to speak out of turn than never to tell her at all.

"I love you." He whispers, strangely not tentative at all. "That's what was in those letters, more or less."

"I love you, too." She throws the words back at him without hesitation. "I guess you already knew that. Not shooting you was a bit of a giveaway, huh?"

He hums a noise of agreement that turns into a yawn. "It's still good to hear it said."

"Same. And it's good to say it. I plan on saying it a lot."

"Me too." He nuzzles affectionately into her hair, and wonders if life gets better than this.

…...

Clarke feels safe.

She wasn't in imminent danger on the Ring, of course, but now she actually feels genuinely _safe_. There's something about the casual strength and raw protectiveness of Bellamy's arms that have always made her feel that way.

She feels loved, too. Because Bellamy just told her he felt that way, and because he's _showing_ her now, as well, kissing her softly and a little sleepily, with a possessive hand cupped about the back of her neck.

She's kissing him back, of course. How could she not? He deserves to know how she feels, after all those years left in the lurch. And she wants him to feel her, real and warm and wanting him, and know that he's not losing his mind in grief.

She's really here, and she really loves him, and neither nuclear apocalypse nor locked door can keep them apart forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
